Wendigo
by AnAppleOfDiscord
Summary: Arthur was so used to foes attacking him as a nation; he forgot his vulnerabilities as a man. A longtime enemy settles the score; Alfred gets caught in the crossfire. Rated T for Language and Violence. NO PAIRINGS. Father Son Fic
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia. Budweiser promoted the "Hero of the Night: the Designated Driver" catchphrase. 'America the Beautiful' aka 'Pikes Peaks' belongs to Katharine Lee Bates (writer) and Samuel A. Ward (composer). Various historical references/quotes come from the works and ideas of Dante, John Locke, and Thomas Paine, etc.

**Warnings: **Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically).

Enjoy!

**Chapter 1: Wild West-ing**

* * *

><p>England resisted the strong impulse to slam his face into the table and end his misery with the sweet relief of unconsciousness.<p>

Until now, he had honestly believed that his former colony was the most irritating speaker at G8 meetings. He was gravely mistaken...blissfully ignorant really. There was someone infinitely more obnoxious than America: Texas.

The countries' first reaction upon seeing the brown-haired man enter their meeting was shock. It had been widely believed that upon receiving statehood, Texas had dissolved. Alfred had done little to negate this belief, showing up as he had to a conference in 1845 with a pair of spectacles perched on his nose.

Spain (who had also been visiting Arthur on business) had been shocked into silence. He'd always harbored a bit of guilt over their relationship—having spent far more time with Romano than his New World colony. After Mexico had snatched him up he hadn't done much to stay in contact, and he'd all but ignored the boy's brief span of independence...and then Mexico's confirmation that she never saw him again after the Mexican-American War.

Spain was usually so stoic about matters that troubled him, but the way he'd swallowed thickly upon hearing that. The look of despair in his former rival's eyes…

England blinked the image away.

If only they could have stayed so lucky.

The Texan stood in a crisp, white western detailed business jacket over dark blue denim trousers. England noted with disdain the man's footwear: cowboy boots with spurs. Spurs! He made a calamity of noise every time he moved.

It was a garish ensemble—better suited for a rodeo than a conference; though what was even more off-putting was his attitude: he possessed all of America's obnoxious pushiness and none of his good-humored cheeriness.

The young man glowered at them from beneath the broad brim of his white suede cowboy hat—as though he was performing a grand deed of humanitarianism just by appearing.

No circle in Dante's inferno could compare with the agonizing reality of what Texas considered "filling in fer the boss-man while he was busy." Apparently, while Alfred's boss was the president; Texas' boss was Alfred...and Alfred alone. Alas, Alfred had seen fit to leave him a list of matters to oversee and since Texas currently "had the podium and they didn't. They just had to sit back, shut up, suck it up, and listen."

It was a sad day indeed, when America's diplomacy skills were missed.

Arthur let his gaze slide to the nervous man seated beside the Texan, a human aide Congress had sent to "assist." Really, he was there to attempt damage control and whose main job seemed to consist of sending apology fruit baskets to the other personifications. As it stood, England had two, Italy had one, Germany had two, China had three, and Russia had eight.

Texas was currently going into an extremely detailed (and thoroughly moronic) scheme about using wind farms to cool down the poles and stop the caps from melting.

"That is ridiculous, that is not how-" England growled.

Dark brown eyes narrowed at him, "_**Boss**_ says it'd look cool to have a bunch of pinwheels goin' at the Poles."

Italy's raised hand was met with a glare: "Nah, I ain't takin' questions. And we ain't goin' fer another pasta break."

The Italian gulped "So scary vee."

Arthur frowned "Do you honestly believe anyone will fund this mad venture?"

"I jus' _**said**_: I ain't takin' questions."

"It baffles me how-"

"So…" he continued "As you can see in this schematic" he raised a remote and a white screen lowered down. "We will station them in this pattern. You may recognize it-there is a similar pattern template to what's seen in the in the Legend of Zelda segment-"

Japan looked down in embarrassment. To have inspired this...whatever it was... regardless of how indirectly...

England felt his eyebrow twitch. Worse, it appeared the "schematic" was drawn with red, grey (since white doesn't show well), and blue crayons with a doodle of Alfred giving a "peace sign" in the bottom corner.

Texas faced them, completely serious.

"So as you can see-"

"This meeting is a complete waste of time" Arthur concluded.

The man growled something that sounded suspiciously like "You're so lucky I don't have my glasses or I'd have you hog-tied before you could say-"

BAM! The doors slammed open:

"The hero has arrived!"

There was a collective sigh of relief as Alfred strolled into the room.

"Better the idiot devil I know aru."

Arthur risked a glance back to see how the Texan took the usurpation, since he seemed on the verge of throwing a tantrum a moment ago. The man's stunned countenance gave way to a pearly grin.

Arthur blinked; thrown by the abrupt change of expression (and privately glad China's comment went unacknowledged).

The brunette took a deep breath and to the horror of nearly everyone burst into song:

"_O beautiful for spacious skies,_

_For amber waves of grain,"_

Arthur nearly choked-flabbergasted with how topsy-turvy everything was going. He discretely pinched himself-God, this was really happening.

"_For purple mountain majesties_

_Above the fruited plain!"_

Perhaps he imagined it, but Alfred did appear to walk a bit faster—cheeks tinged pink.

"_America! America!_

_God shed his grace on thee_

_And crown thy good with brotherhood_

_From sea to shining sea!"_

Alfred smiled, rubbed the back of his neck, and laughed a bit.

"Aw shoot, Tex, ya know you don't have to do that every time I-"

"So good to see ya little brother" Texas declared; pulling him into a hearty hug. Which was rather uncomfortable for the rest of them to witness—particularly since it kept lasting.

"Dey are very affectionate, da?"

Alfred turned a bit pinker. "Kay Tex, you can lemme go now."

"Right, right" the man motioned to the intern and abruptly his grin became a glare: "You. Skedaddle."

The man leapt from the seat like he'd been burned. Texas immediately took it.

Alfred laughed a little awkwardly, "Okay dudes! So yeah, good to see y'all and all that blah blah introductory stuff."

Arthur cringed. He taught him better than that. He had! Countless hours on proper speech and-and decorum—no, it couldn't be for naught.

"That's my little brother" Texas loudly whispered to Francis-motioning to Alfred with obvious pride "Look at him, standing there all important."

France indulged him with a nod and smile-while catching Arthur's eye. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. _Il est fou. Oui?_

He nodded. _Yes, frog I agree. God. The world's end must be near. _

"Soo where are we anyway?" Alfred glanced over his shoulder to the screen "Oh! Right on Tex, wow! You're a whole day ahead of schedule." He blinked and glanced at him. "How'd you get 'em all to shut up-they usually gang up on me with all these questions and '_oh America, that would never work?'_ Anyways, so we'd station these super awesome windfarms up there and we'll stop the caps from melting!"

"Yeah!" Texas cheered.

"And make us money with all the energy they'll collect!"

"Whoo!"

"And it'll stop global warming!"

"You bet it will!"

"And the planet is saved!"

"You're so amazing!"

"Yeah I am!"

"I remember when you first peaked your head into Los Adaes. Oh! You were so adorable!"

Alfred blushed. Clearly, Texas was Alfred's number one fan. In fact, it was becoming steadily more impressive that Alfred had kept the git a secret this long what with his rather boisterous declarations of pride and affection.

Though on reflection, Arthur recalled the number of his people being lambasted on blogging sites for disagreeing with American policies and customs. Hmm...perharps he was an internet "troll." Fitting.

Arthur shifted in his chair. His green eyes narrowed on the two Americans. At first their relationship seemed unlikely, considering how often headlines displayed the states' government at odds with the national one.

Though he supposed that Twain fellow summed it up well: "_Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it."_

He certainly adored Alfred.

* * *

><p>Arthur scowled at the pint before him; doing his best to ignore the empty stool to his left.<p>

Alfred had finished up his presentation rather swiftly since no one felt like arguing with Texas. England then took pity on all involved and ended the meeting early-declaring that they would reconvene the next afternoon.

He had intended to scold America on his choice of replacement. He had approached him; brows furrowed, arms crossed, feet planted.

The lad had blinked and smiled in acknowledgement as the older nation drew near. Then before any pleasantries could be exchanged, Texas slung an arm around America.

"Let's blow this pop stand!" the brunette exclaimed and off they went.

The two U.S. citizens left chattering loudly about steak dinners and how they were "gonna paint the town and the front porch!" Whatever the hell that meant.

England was left standing there as the room emptied, shocked by the deviation from their routine. They were supposed to banter a bit. He would remark on Texas' unsuitability for international affairs, complain about the inconvenience of it all, and demand that the least America could do was offer the reason behind his absence over dinner and drinks.

A satisfactory visit would end with America using the guest bedroom. The next morning (depending on how fussy Alfred chose to be) they would breakfast at home or out. England would then have the satisfaction of knowing that Alfred consumed at least two consecutive meals that did not involve items from a McDonald's menu.

The alternate, unpleasant, scenario would end when America's obnoxious behavior soared to new dizzying heights and England's patience would wear thin. They would then argue, insult one another, and storm off. A few hours later (depending on how drunk he became), he would call the U.S. Embassy and make sure the boy returned safely.

His night was not going at all how he had expected. He'd ended up going home, waiting for his cell to ring with some sort of message, being depressed that he was at home, going out for a meal (alone), completing more paperwork at his office at Parliament, becoming more depressed when his cellphone continued to remain silent, and then deciding he needed a drink.

He ventured to the outskirts of the city. "The One-Eyed Wench" was a pub he'd frequented it for decades. Ownership had passed from father to son several times over since the World Wars and they'd deduced his status as their nation. It had resulted in some-good natured ribbing and a tab.

Arthur took another swig, and savored the feel of alcohol scorching down his throat. He had Tom bring him another.

It was a surprise when Wales entered the establishment. The brothers stared at one another for several beats before the elder joined the younger at his table in the corner. It was a wonder he bothered. Neither spoke beyond an obligatory condemnation on the current weather (dismal as of the last two hours) and a brief cheers to the royal family's health.

The time crept by slowly, and Arthur found himself irritated with Rhys's presence. He could only stare at the wilted flowers in their cheap vase on the table for so long. When Tom came by to refill their drinks, he followed his gaze and muttered that the girls had convinced him they were necessary to "rejuvenate" the place. Might bring in more birds they'd suggested.

If only Wales would leave. He did not feel comfortable indulging himself to his usual amount of (what Alfred deemed) "pity pints" lest some embarrassing photos be taken. Wales had a tendency to be the blackmailing sort.

The clock read half-past two and he was mulling over an excuse to leave when there was a knock on the door. He'd expected Tom to shoo the bloke away-the tosser had missed the lock-in by two hours. So England was surprised when Tom opened the door and Alfred staggered across the threshold. Especially when his flushed face and general unsteadiness suggested he was drunk. Shocking.

More so, was the bartender's greeting "Oi there Al, and what mischief are you getting up to?"

"Stimulating your economy?" He chuckled as he clambered onto a bar-stool.

Texas took a spot beside him, a backpack slung over one arm. God, they looked like bloody tourists.

"Who's this gent?"

"Tex G. Jones, Sir. This one's older brother."

Arthur's eye twitched. That man…had the audacity to name himself...after himself and Alfred apparently—since he'd decided to share the surname.

"And him?" Tom pointed at the meek assistant who'd somehow been taken hostage for their night out.

Arthur felt some genuine sympathy for the poor chap. It was obvious he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Ughh. Um this is-" Alfred started then stopped, then chuckled "This is….uh…" He laughed loudly, "I should just rename you Bob."

"Perhaps it is for the best, he broke off from your Empire" Wales muttered quietly into his tankard.

"Yeah, we roped him into coming" Tex explained.

"The stiff" Alfred chortled.

"My name is Stuart" the man murmured.

After making their orders, they moved over to a table uncomfortably nearby.

"General Jones, Captain Jones, sirs, should we really be here?"

"Shore leave" Texas growled.

"But we've already been to five bars already!" he pulled a fretful hand through his mousy hair, and from the growing sweat stains on his suit—he was at his wits' end.

Arthur stiffened at that new information. America was usually the "Hero of the Night: the Designated Driver." In fact, he cannot recall seeing him drunk save when he was a child and had swiped some rum while playing "pirates."

All his previous attempts to ply America with alcohol and get him to confide secrets had failed miserably. So he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

"Chillax dude, we're Wild West-ing. Jus' like the good ol' days. Right bro?"

"I'm one of the few he trusts enough to let loose like this," Texas explained proudly.

England felt a pang of something he'd rather not identify flash through him.

"Plus, I'm the only one who can haul him back to the hotel. Though it's much harder now, than it was then."

"Let it go Tex."

"Ya just HAD to annex Alaska."

"Yup."

Texas tossed his backpack into the remaining chair and chose a new topic, "I don't know how you manage those meetings. What a bunch of uptight, know-it-all-" he broke off to give the waitress (Tilly, if Arthur remembered her badge correctly) a smile and a wink as she set down their drinks.

For a moment, Alfred fiddled with his tankard.

"Dude tell me about it, I have come THIS close" he pinched his fingers together "to being all: '_the hell with this I'll just go back to Isolationism.'_

Well, that shocked Arthur to attention.

"Cuz you know everything's always my fault. It's actually kinda funny, infuriating, and an ego-boost all at the same time. Dude, they like...think I'm Eris, and I just materialize instantly, wherever, to mess with shit. Two, that I have that sort of spare time. I mean, my country's a bajillion times bigger than theirs. My country has different freaking time zones. AND. I've got 50 states that each have their own list of laws and customs PLUS my national government. And then….and then! Suppose I DID have spare time—I'd actually go through the trouble of picking them to torment specifically. OR that I have a globe that I just throw darts at and yeah, that's the guy I'm messing with today!"

Alfred chugged his drink down.

"Idiots" Texas nodded, and motioned to the counter that they needed more alcohol.

England shifted, well...all of that was a consequence of being a Power. Did Alfred really expect it to be a bed of roses? If he had a Euro for every time someone cried foul about big bad Britain...

"And ya know what else?"

"What?"

"How they're all America you aren't sophisticated!" He poked at the centerpiece of flowers on their table—spinning the stems between his fingers dejectedly.

Well...

"Your books suck. Because we coughcough Europe have decided that literature is like an amusement park. But instead of height, it's age that's required to ride. And we've decided you're not old enough to have good authors."

England stared at his drink a bit guiltily. Alright, perhaps, he teased him about that. It was not as though he lacked writers altogether. There just weren't that many. Truthfully it was not his fault, he was awfully young. He would gather more with time.

"I've GOT authors. I've got a ton of awesome authors. Emily Dickinson, Kate Chopin, Washington Irving, Mark Twain, Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Steinbeck, Tennessee Williams, Charlotte Perkins Gillman, Stephen King. Dude it just goes on. But ya know what ticks me off?"

"What, Al?"

Arthur gripped his drink tighter. That state really knew how to goad its nation.

"That somehow Edgar Allan Poe doesn't count. Somehow he gets taken hostage by Europe. Like people make the mistake of assuming he's European. He's not. He's mine. I mean his work was popular in Europe. And they remember his work, but they forget that he's mine. Or they ignore it and-and-" He made a noise of frustration.

"As though my writers were incapable amateurs in regards to Romanticism. The notion is absurd, it's ridiculous. It's offensive. It insinuates that American literary works are somehow inherently inferior when situated beside their European brethren. Tis-"

"A hot-button issue. Your accent's slippin' and you're goin' colonial on us. Damn it Al, fight for those R's!"

Now that piqued even Wales' attention and they shared a glance. Not only had Alfred's long-lost vocabulary made an appearance but his pronunciation—Oh! It was music to England's ears.

"Oi, you...alright?" Rhys glanced at him.

Good God, he could cry. The sheer amount of lessons spent grooming that boy...the devastation he'd felt when the word "Dude" left his mouth in a conference several centuries later.

"I knew deep down, he remembered proper English. His grammar is still a bit off, but a few remedial courses would sort that ou-"

"England" Wales raised an eyebrow.

"He was actually a very good pupil. Quite bright. Why, his favorite tale was-"

"Sir Gawain and the Green Knight" Rhys sighed knowingly, having heard this repeatedly since the 1650s. Arthur had been so proud of his colony's literacy; it seemed the whole of Europe was informed within a fortnight.

"Yes."

Several more rounds, various complaints, and one prank call to Mexico (where Alfred pretended to be ordering at Taco Bell), England thought he better understood America's character.

The boy's buffoonish tendencies sprung from a snarl of arrogant obstinacy, deliberate ignorance, cheerful apathy, and a juvenile sense of humor.

They were like unfortunate weeds spoiling the garden of his intellect. Only an empire or the remnant of one would have the strength to pull those out.

"You left me too soon" Arthur murmured. That was the root of it. Unlike...Oh blast, what's-his-name? (Somewhere someone sneezed.) America jumped out of the nest at the earliest convenience. "Lucky you didn't break your neck" he grumbled into his drink. "Twit."

Texas gently removed the glasses that kept slipping down America's nose. With the bottom of his shirt he cleaned them, before placing them on his own face. He sighed happily at his restored sight then grumbled "why couldn't you have taken my boots instead?"

"You bet the specs, dumbass."

"I didn't expect you to win though."

More drinks.

Arthur's own glass now sat untouched. America had drank entirely too much and seemed to be getting steadily more aggressive. It actually made Arthur rather nervous.

"We're the best!"

"You betcha."

The lack of agreement from Stuart earned a glower.

"We. Are. The. Best" Alfred repeated.

Stuart sighed, "Sir, it's those sort of statements that put us at odds with other nations. If we're to successfully negotiate more trade agreements, we need to abandon competitive verbiage that alienates-"

"You _**don't **_think we're the best?"

"You're gonna want to change your tune" Texas chimed in an annoying sing-song tone.

"You think their way is better? You some kinda-"

Arthur shook his head, waiting for the inevitable "commie bastard."

"Royalist?"

Come again?

"S-sir?"

"Better convince him fast" Tex chuckled "Or you're leaving through the window."

"I'll not suffer a turncoat in our midst!"

"What?!"

"We're banned from fourteen bars in Texas. Alone. As of this year."

Arthur gaped; but Alfred's only 19 "officially" he's not supposed to be able to purchase-

Alfred stood up and loomed over the assistant.

"G-god bless the U.S.A!" he squeaked and hysterically rambled the pledge of allegiance—which effectively soothed his ruffled nation...though he didn't sit back down...

Texas checked his watch, "It's time."

"Yes, we should leave-"

"Nope, he's drunk. It's 3 am, and you're not escaping the Revolutionary Rant. This is the time and atmosphere where the Sons of Liberty met. It's a trigger."

As if on cue, Alfred exclaimed, "We shan't accept their tyranny! Stationing soldiers in such a way to make masters into servants? The King invites his men into our homes. I say if he wants them fed and entertained? Let him play host."

"That Quartering Act was a dreadful idea. I warned you it wouldn't work" Wales stated smugly.

England scowled. "Very few of them had that occur. Mostly it was used to allocate the use of certain buildings to house them."

"Well, from the sound of it, Alfred had to surrender his quarters to someone."

"Well then, someone disobeyed my orders. He ought to have written-"

"-or that farce they call the Administration of Justice Act. Ha! They may as well call it, the "British are not to be held responsible for crimes they commit" Law. My colonists can't afford to travel all the way to bloody London to testify. The loss of wages! Their families would starve!"

Those Acts were intended it to humble them, intimidate them a bit, instead...

Alfred slapped his hands down on the table and hissed. "These transgressions are intolerable!"

...it infuriated them.

"Since our efforts to discuss our issues peacefully have failed, we must now resort to more desperate means. Our father...country" he added hastily "has dealt us grievous harm in its unyielding restrictions" he blinked hard.

A familiar ache flared to life along with a deep-seated bitterness. _There wasn't a need for you to question my every move. Or trade with every sodding country that sailed by. I would've provided for you._

"I suggest you all read Thomas Paine's _Common Sense_. After all, even if England is our supposed parent the more shame for it, for "_even brutes do not devour their young_." Yet, England seems intent on consuming our resources and our successes." "

That was too much; the glass under England's hand cracked. Even several centuries later, Paine's words could piss him off. Traitor.

How convenient to forget the multitude of kindnesses he bestowed on him. Arthur glowered: _If not for me you'd still be completely illiterate and likely conquered by Spain or France. _

"Locke, an Englishman mind you, essentially says that when we're governed we surrender certain liberties for the sake of a stable community and the security of our beings and belongings."

Texas pulled Stuart's chair closer and whispered loudly, "He's gonna say "property" and it's gonna sound like the prissiest thing ya ever heard."

"As he says: "_Government has no other end, but the preservation of property_."

Stuart and Texas shared a laugh.

England frowned. The boy was pronouncing it perfectly.

The boy grumbled a moment about property and then grew sullen as he segued into imports before bursting out with sudden feeling, "Raise _**my **_taxes, I think NOT sir!"

Damn it all. He'd spoiled Alfred to rottenness. Given the era, America actually had the lowest taxes at the time! Lower than his own for cripes' sake!

From the backpack, Texas pulled out a tri-corner hat and slapped it over Alfred's head.

"Oh! Thank you, damned thing's always falling off-now where was-Oh yes, right! We have no other course but to rebel!"

"And you don't think this scheme is...impossible?" Stuart inquired. From the tone, it's clear its something he's always wanted to ask Alfred—after all, taking on an empire was usually suicide.

Alfred sighed, "If ever there was a word to be struck from the vocabulary of an American. Let it be that one. There is nothing on God's Earth that is impossible with His grace and guidance."

"Preach it Pilgrim."

"Impossible is a word that languishes in the mouths of cowards-fattened by sloth and fear. Prithee sir, spit the foul noun out."

"You know?" Arthur startled at the sudden appearance of Tom by his elbow—topping his abandoned drink off. "I consider myself a content Englishman, but he's got a way of speaking. It's not a wonder how he convinced a bunch of farmers they had a chance."

They knew then. They hadn't assumed he was merely rehearsing for some idiotic play. It was one thing to know about himself, but knowing Alfred's identity...

"Gentlemen," Alfred continued "We stand in the New World! Let it _**be**_ a New World untarnished by the Old. Let us attempt what others dare not, and our glory be the greater when we triumph! If liberty be a dream, may I never wake; for a lifetime without it would be but a walking death!"

Even under the haze of dim bar lights, his golden hair glittered. Paired with his bright blue eyes which seemed to shine—it granted him an ethereal glow. He stood like some glimmering messenger of undaunted, idealistic hope in an otherwise drab world.

Oh yes. Who cared about the bloodshed involved with Revolutions? Or the war debt that waited for him around the bend?

Oh yes, yes, yes. Freedom. That's all _**he**_ needed. Not security. Not shelter. Not food. Or family…

Freedom and property…but mostly freedom.

Several waitresses have paused in their duties to watch in awe.

"So...you should join us!" he insisted adamantly, shaking Texas in particular rather enthusiastically.

"That _**is**_ why I joined you Sunshine."

Alfred cheered and sat down. He clanked his drink against theirs and downed it one go.

Stuart then seemed to realize the spectacle they'd made, turned pink, and immediately suggested they leave.

"Oh no, we're not leaving until this hour is over. This is the time of night he does serious vandalizing shit. Not to mention, I'm hopin' he doesn't figure out where we are or...there will be damages to pay for."

"Property damages?"

"Eeeeeyeah... it happened once in 1890, he totally freaked. Thought he was going on trial for treason. It was kinda my fault though. He kept askin' for his founding fathers and I ended up snapping that they were dead. That was a mistake. He forgot who the hell I was and plum lost his mind for the next two hours. Accidentally derailed a train, ran straight back to the harbor—I don't what he was thinking. Maybe that he was gonna fuckin' swim back to America—anyways I got a hold of him 'fore he drowned himself...It's sorta the reason we're not s'posed to travel together internationally. BUT it's been over a century, so they finally eased up on us."

It was decided. Arthur was going to write a very long, very thorough report to Congress on why Texas was not welcome to return. Ever.

"-But that'll go down the drain, if he tries to finish what Guy Fawkes started."

England's formidable brows shot up-Good God no!

"But…" Alfred interrupted, his speech now slurred-the alcohol had now taken full effect on him. His previous brilliance was winking out, though at least his accent remained. "I _**like **_parliament...even though they won't let us join" he puffed his cheeks petulantly.

"I mean, that's...that's the part we like. And-and we're gonna do something like it. I mean, well I can't remember exactly what they all said. It's not in stone. But there's talk of balances to...check stuff. To keep stuff in check. You know...democracy?" Alfred spun his empty tankard on the table. "Lots of it. But, no, sorry, not like Athenian democracy where it takes forever. So not too much of it. The right amount of it. You know? Well, probably not. Don't think anyone's done anything quite like it before. They're bright though, so….we'll sort it all out. Don't worry over it. Worry over the damn war. We could all still hang, if it goes poorly, you know."

The staff snickered. They were laughing at an America caught in the grip of ale and memories… entertained that he can't remember that he'd won.

Laughing at him. Even though he'd been dead serious about that last part...and his hands were shaking.

Laughing.

At the war. Their war. At them.

"Enough" Arthur's chair scraped back loudly.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" Wales hissed.

It didn't matter that Wales (who rarely acknowledged him by name) has not only used his but stood up in alarm. Arthur dodged the hand that reached for him. It didn't matter that he was no longer an empire and America was not a colony and confronting him in his current state was dangerous.

"That's enough" he bit out.

Already another tankard was being handed to the boy. Alfred blinked at the woman in confusion. When he didn't accept it, she pushed it towards his empty hand.

"No" Arthur waved her away "No, he's had enough."

Tom chuckled, "Oh he's still good for a few mo-"

"I said he's had enough!" The rest of the staff moved back nervously. Imbeciles. The fact it took several warnings must mean the IQ of his citizens has declined. When your nation told you to sod off, you sod off damn it.

Blood pounded in his ears.

"Alfred" he growled.

The boy was now leaning his chair on its back legs. He glanced his way and lost his concentration. Only England's quick reflexes kept him from a tumble.

"Fa-Bro-Brit-Enguh Arth-" big blue eyes stared...blinked, glared, blinked again, and stared.

"Alfred" he repeated.

Then the haze lifted and his eyes were a smiling summer blue Arthur hadn't seen since…

"Up. We must go. At once." It's the clipped tone he uses when they're allies on the battlefield and they must concede ground or risk losing more men. It usually startled America into standing.

"H-hey, who invited you?" the Texan frowned.

Acidic green eyes burnt into brown, "Belt up you sad excuse-"

"D-don't be mad" a soft voice pleaded and bedraggled flowers (that smell of beer and dirty vase water) were thrust before his face.

There were more chuckles and his eyes stung.

He'll never return to this pub again, and if he has his way neither will America.

Tom strode back over hands up placating, "No harm done. We'll phone him a taxi as usual-"

"So this usually happens, when he frequents your bar?"

"He has his habits, as you've yours."

Yes, Arthur had spent July 4th here many a time. What delightful bookends they made.

"One of my favorite customers," Tom assured "if I do say so m'self. We find him most amusing."

A razor sharp smile turned the edges of Arthur's lips and the man shuddered into stillness.

"Is that so? How good to know you **amuse **yourselves at my child's expense."

* * *

><p>TBC...<p>

Read and Review Please : D

Personal Headcanons: You've Been Warned

*The area of Texas was explored earlier (1500s) than the British Colonies (1600s) but sort of ignored by Spain until the 1600s. (Before someone cries Vikings, I think that's more Canada's turf. Personally, from what I saw in the anime a time where Sweden, Finland, England, and France were frolicking about was the 1650s. I'm gonna stick with that.) Considering Spain's treatment and Mexico's treatment, and the uncertainty of being a Republic...Texas really wanted to join the U.S. It all ultimately results in Texas being a hilarious-smothering-older brother-underling for America.

*America: His colonial accent emerges when he's drunk or stressed. He's good-natured, but has a mean streak. He's smarter than he lets on, but he likes people to underestimate him. When people know exactly what you're capable of, you seem less heroic. Plus, your enemies learn where to strike you and your friends becomes less appreciative when you help out. He likes having an Ace up his sleeve.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia.

**Warnings: **Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically).

Enjoy!

**Chapter 2: Of Pampered Princelings**

* * *

><p>Arthur never thought of Alfred as a graceful creature. Coordinated, perhaps. Sturdy, definitely.<p>

Trying to manage the inebriated behemoth gave him a new appreciation for the amount of, dare he say it, _poise_ the boy usually sported.

A graceless Alfred stumbled at uneven pavement and dented lampposts as he bumped past them. Not to mention the fool kept wandering away towards the seedier part of the city. Everytime he looked behind him and found Alfred gone, panic seized him. He only turned away for a moment! It was like losing his little colony in the crowded Boston seaport all over.

The fourth time resulted in a very abrasive dressing down.

"Are you such an idiot that you long to be mugged? That the sidewalk is just for decoration? And you can go traipsing about in the middle of the fucking road? Think it'd be a jolly adventure to be struck down by a motorist?"

In response, Alfred had stared at him, scuffed a shoe and asked if Arthur could please stop yelling at him. Then continued on in a pitiable tone that if his ex-colonizer _**did **_know the way, would he just lead him already?

Before he could retort that _that _was what he was bloody well trying to do, Alfred slipped a hand in his and stared at him with a docile expression.

Chalk it up to one final spark of brilliance; a sputter from Alfred's alcohol induced nostalgia.

Any initial embarrassment on Arthur's behalf, faded when faced with how much smoother things went after that. Alfred trailed half a step behind him, which allowed Arthur to guide them back on course. Though he did have to tell off a tramp who made an unnecessary comment about poufs.

Truthfully, he felt rather pleased by this latest development. It required a dose of humility (or perhaps weary acceptance) he didn't know America had. Usually America led even when he had no idea where he was headed. Maybe there was some hope for the boy deflating his head.

The boy's hand though, was in poor shape. He'd shaken hands with America before in numerous meetings alongside their bosses. America usually wore gloves. It was now obvious why. His palm was almost sharp with callouses, the skin cracked and split. The slender fingers were dry and rough. The veins in his wrists were strained. As though he had pulled something too heavy for too long.

It reminded England of his seafaring days. Hoisting the sails, rope work, and plundering had given him hands like that. But what could America be up to? Their intell heard from a reliable source, that he wasn't cleared for another tour of duty. Arthur's boss had smirked when he heard his nation's sigh of relief.

Was this why Alfred chose to hug as a greeting regardless of cultural impropriety? Since gloves were swiftly going out of style?

Presently, what concerned Arthur was the temperature-the hand was cold and clammy. Boy might have caught cold; a shame because it had seemed like he was recovering from that Recession.

Arthur fumbled with his left hand to unlock the door and tugged Alfred along into the darkened house. He asked a few fairies to light up the house, before trying to pull Alfred upstairs to the guestroom-only a few photographs were knocked from their places.

He steered him over to the bed and bid him to sit down and remove his shoes-as they were filthy.

In the meanwhile, Arthur busied himself gathering a bin, towels, a glass of water and painkillers. All of which would likely prove invaluable in the next few hours.

He returned with his supplies to find America still struggling to remove his boots. The one time after a meeting when he didn't change into trainers.

He witnessed several failed attempts to unlace boot strings before his patience ebbed. Arthur swatted Alfred's hands away and took the task himself-doing his best to ignore the nostalgia and convince himself it's necessary for the sake of his carpet. Yes. That's it.

He left the room again to make a few calls; let America's staff know he was lodging with him. Then he'd fetch his slippers and sewing basket so he may settle in for a long night.

* * *

><p>Embroidery was soothing. The movement of the needle threading through the fabric, an image slowly taking shape was the pinnacle of slow, lasting satisfaction.<p>

Settled in an armchair, England tutted to himself about foolhardy overgrown children. They were dreadful at caring for themselves. He threw surreptitious glances at the figure on the bed. It was a bit disconcerting. America looked much younger without spectacles, which made the past seem so close.

He returned his attention to the satin-stitch on his hoop-which was coming along, quite finely thank you, when there was a groan.

"I don't feel good."

"Well" Arthur corrected absently. The boy ignored him and tossed a few times in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. Then blue eyes snapped open and he abruptly sat up. Arthur immediately handed him the bin.

A lifetime at sea made him acquainted to the plight of landlubbers, so the sound of drunken spewing didn't phase him a bit.

"Dammit Tex, you're s'posed to lemme pass out. Then I get to skip this part."

Arthur took the bin and handed him the glass of water.

Alfred took a gulp and coughed in surprise. He stared at the water and then at Arthur as though he couldn't fathom WHY Arthur had handed him this.

"Take another sip, you dumb sod."

Alfred gave a heavy scowl, but did as told.

"That's a good lad" Arthur replied approvingly.

The boy nodded and set the glass down on the bedside table.

"Now take a kip. Go on."

Alfred yawned and snuggled into the pillow.

* * *

><p>Arthur was washing out the used bin, when the slam of a car door and intuition alerted him that Wales was dropping in.<p>

Soon enough he heard the front door open and close-hard enough to rattle the panes. Why did he give that wanker a spare key? Angry footsteps on the staircase followed.

"You!" Wales growled from his spot in the doorway, hands clamped on the jamb.

Arthur rinsed his hands. Only one of his brothers could look that confrontational at the threshold of the loo.

"Wales" he acknowledged as he toweled his hands dry.

"What were you thinking?! You're lucky their government hasn't pressed charges-"

Arthur frowned, "I requested that he move. He refused."

Wales shook his head, carding a hand through his red-blond fringe,"He thought you were kidnapping America."

"Someone had to look out for America's best interests. As his ally, it is my-"

"Of course. Who better than dear old Mummy?" Rhyss drawled.

Arthur glowered, "I've already informed his people of the situation. They took it exceedingly wel-"

"Because I phoned them first!" Wales snapped. "You stupid, sod. You knocked him out. I had to cover both tabs and escort them both back to-"

England reached for his wallet, "Then allow me to compensate-"

Before he could remove it, a backpack was shoved into his face.

"I assured Stuart that I'd deliver America's personal effects."

Arthur unzipped the backpack; it contained a cellphone, some toiletries, a pair of trainers, some manga, and...that hat.

"I see. Thank you."

He glanced up to find that Wales had moved down the hall. His elder brother was looking in on Alfred. He turned back, a sharp glint in his hazel eyes, "Tell me, do all of your _allies _have guest quarters tailored so specially?"

Arthur stiffened.

No. The bedrooms on the lower floor were generic with creams and sepia tones. They were crisp, clean, and neutral. Elegant enough to keep guests respectful, but simple enough not to distract them from sleeping well.

That wasn't where he lodged Alfred when he visited.

England approached his elder brother cautiously-certain Wales would read the answer in his eyes...If he hadn't found it already in the room.

Yes, this was the guestroom he usually had Alfred stay in. Yes, it was the bedroom nearest his own. Yes, he'd furnished it in the Colonial style on purpose. The room was swathed in blues, whites, and gold. Heavy gold tassels were wrapped on the bedposts on the four poster bed, and on the great velvet curtains framing the window.

There were framed maps of the world on the wall, ornate rugs on the floor, a mahogany wardrobe, and a hand-crafted writing desk with chair. There were a collection of antique knick knacks here and there: a phonograph, a hurricane lamp, an inkwell. If Wales took a good look, he'd likely notice that the outlets in this room had adapter plugs in the sockets.

Wales abruptly pushed the door further open and entered the room. Arthur was quick on his heels.

Alfred was still sleeping, nestled between an array of expensive pillows. His golden hair glinted in the lamplight. He breathed deeply, evenly-a small smile on his face, one hand pulling a pillow closer. Arthur resisted the urge to pull the blankets back up to his chin. Wales wouldn't let him live it down.

Even as it was right now, he felt embarrassed. America was fairly oblivious to the small things. He wouldn't realize how much time and attention had been paid to this room specifically for his use. Wales would notice every detail.

Arthur wouldn't deny it, couldn't really. He and his brothers have had countless bosses. With those bosses came numerous children. They've both seen pampered princelings. With a happy sigh, Alfred nuzzled into his favored pillow.

Spoiled. He was always spoiled. He was easy to spoil. Ever since they'd begun their long road of reconciliation-Arthur hadn't been able to help himself. He curbed the greatest impulses of course, but...

Wales shook his head in disbelief, more than bit of disgust present in the curl of his lips. Then his eyes snagged on a small vase with a handful of wilted flowers in it on the bedside table. His eyes flit over to study his younger brother-surprise and contempt warring for dominance on the Welshman's face.

Yes. Those were the flowers Alfred had given him from earlier.

"You're pathetic Arthur, you know that?"

Yes. He knew that too.

"I think it'd be best if you-"

"How many times will it take for you to accept reality?"

"left and -"

"He isn't your colony!" Wales snapped.

"I know that!" he hissed back.

"Do you? All I've seen suggests otherwise. You think he's just going to waltz back into your arms don't you? These past centuries were just one long holiday!"

"For God's sake keep your voice down" Arthur growled.

But it was too late.

There was a rustling and a yawn, and Alfred blinked lazily at the two of them. First, he stared at Wales then at Arthur. "Wow. There are two of you."

Wales visibly shook with fury.

"That's Wales, Alfred" the Briton clamped down on his anger and gave a long-suffering sigh "You've met him before."

Blue eyes shifted to the other man-scanning him with a bit more interest before letting his gaze slide back to Arthur.

"He's leaving us now, were you not Rhys?" He gave the other a civil expression, though there was iron in his voice.

"Like Reese Cups?" the American asked without bothering to look at Wales.

"It's Welsh" the eldest blond bit out tersely.

"Jam or Jelly?"

"Welsh not Welches, you idiot" Wales growled.

America didn't even give him the satisfaction of eye contact, choosing to watch England instead.

"Strawberry or grape?" It was the flat sort of teasing that America seemed wont to do in moments he shouldn't.

"America" England scolded.

The boy laughed softly and rested his head back down on the pillow. Half-lidded eyes still on England, like he was the center of universe.

"Apologize young man."

"Awww."

"America" he replied sternly.

"Fiiiine. Hey Reese Cup, I'm sorry you're not as interesting as England."

England was feeling too flattered to chastise him for his cheekiness, or to question the sudden surge of loyalty America had paid him.

With a rude hand gesture for them both, Wales turned on his heel and stormed off.

Alfred laughed again and snuggled back down, sleepily bidding his former colonizer a cheerful "G'night."

"Good night, Sweet."

When the lad's eyes closed and his breathing evened out, Arthur pulled the blankets back up to his chin.

* * *

><p>Arthur paced the parlor room floor, backpack in hand. He'd set the manga on the bedside table. Had dropped the damned tricorner on the desk like a cursed thing. He'd left the toiletries by the vanity in the loo. Had just put the trainers by the front door.<p>

Which left him with the boy's cellphone.

Arthur was certain he had the most important numbers in his personal planner, but it wouldn't hurt to glean a few more.

With such a golden opportunity, it would be foolish not to check. He'd been prepared to bluff his way through some security measures. But...

All that paranoia and wiretapping and his phone didn't have a lock? It reminded him of the way America used to keep his keys on the visor of his automobile.

He scrolled through the long compilation of numbers in his contacts list. There was this one aide. Sandra? Sarah? She wouldn't mind assisting him. Thank you 'Downton Abbey'-making British accents welcome in American ears.

It should've been a simple matter finding her in the phone... had Alfred organized his contacts, like a rational human being, into appropriate folders. No, he felt the need to have them all in one monstrously long alphabetical list (which Arthur might've been able to accept) only his juvenile sense of humor had renamed just about everyone.

Entries included: _AwesomeSauce, Braveheart, Commie Ba$tard, FrenchFries, Kiku, LuckyCharmz, MadeInChina, Pasta luver, Pot-o-Gold, Sauerkraut, Tex, Tony,_ and a question mark.

He scrolled through again, his previous mission abandoned-now searching for himself. Britain? Great Britain? England? Arthur? UK? Blast it all, he frowned and searched again. Iggy? Brows? Redcoat?

He went through slowly, name by name.

_Dad._

His pulse was loud in his ears. His breath oddly short. _Easy Arthur old boy. Someone else could easily have merited that spot. Best not to invest overmuch. It could easily be an inside joke or insult._

He pressed on it for more information.

That was his number.

Not quite believing it. He slowly pulled out his phone and speed dialed the boy's number. America's phone vibrated and rang to the tune of Johann Strauss' Homage to Queen Victoria.

The word "Dad" flashed across the screen with the background of a Union Jack.

* * *

><p>Alfred hissed at the sliver of light that fell from a gap in the curtains. His body ached, his head pounded, and from the nasty taste in his mouth-he had the mother of all morning breath. He turned to glare at what should've been a twin bed in the American Embassy and jolted in surprise-when he saw Arthur asleep in a tall-backed chair instead.<p>

"What the-"

He glanced around and regretted the motion-dizziness and nausea immediately set in. Still, he'd seen enough to know he was in England's house. How the hell did he wind up here? He glanced at the clock: 8:23 am. Well, that explained part of his misery. Usually when he passed out completely, he'd be dead to the world for 12 hours and skip the hangover completely. Instead, he'd obviously had some sorta black-out episode and met up with England somehow. _Dammit Tex, you have two jobs on a party night-make sure I don't toss folks through windows and watch out for England._

Tex often joked that whenever Alfred needed to vent he oughta just punch a Brit-release all that pent up frustration.

"_Why if we argued that it'd reduce the amount of war declarations, the U.N. would probably clear it" Texas had drawled._

Al froze. Oh God. Please, say he hadn't tried...

His head pounded and he hastily rubbed the spot between his eyes-vainly hoping to relieve the acute pain building there.

Well, there was no use putting off his walk of shame back to the Embassy.

He pulled the covers back and grabbed the discarded boots nearby-forcefully jamming his feet in. If he could just get outta here. He'd text something disarming to Iggy and let the thing slide.

He stood up and fought more nausea. When he felt steady enough, he walked over to where his bomber jacket had been hung. His fingers no sooner touched the thing before a crisp cold voice demanded, "What the devil are you doing?"

Shit.

"O-oh, hey Iggy! Ha ha...Uh...Thanks for letting me crash here, I'm gonna-"

"Lie back down this instant."

"Nah, I-"

"I don't need another performance of you spewing all over-"

Shitshitshitshit.

Alfred rubbed a hand over his neck, "Guess I was pretty wasted."

"Bed. Now. March."

He complied. Not because he was acknowledging the old man's authority. Hell no. He was just...feeling gross. That's all.

"Remove your shoes, I don't need you soiling the-"

Alfred sighed and kicked the sloppily tied boots back off.

"Here. For the headache" Arthur offered him two pills and a glass of water.

"...kay."

As he laid back down, he asked "Where's Tex?"

Arthur stiffened and then shrugged.

"He was there, right?" If he'd left to pursue a girl, Alfred was gonna slug him.

"Hm."

"Does that mean 'Yes you saw him' or 'No you didn't'" Tex didn't just let him get shanghaied, did he?

"I saw him."

"And?"

"Then we left the One-Eyed Witch."

Dread spiralled down into his already queasy stomach. That's usually the last leg of his booze run in merry old England.

"Oh." Blue eyes cautiously moved to gauge Arthur's expression. Green eyes were staring flatly at him. He immediately looked away and to his everlasting horror saw his tri-corner hat.

_Oh. God. No._

England turned his head to follow his gaze.

His heart pounded. _Oh no. Oh no, no, no_. He swallowed nervously and tried to force out a laugh, "A-a little out of date I'll agree, but there's just something about me that can still rock it ya kno-"

"Is that why you won't drink with me?"

"I...drink with you."

"You accompany me. You don't actually-"

"Yeah, cause we totally need an Act Three" America snapped. Sheesh, it came out so bitterly.

Arthur looked at him sharply, mouth downturned-bushy brows high in surprise.

Alfred backpedaled, "I-I mean. It's just...goddammit, you were there!"

"Yes" was the prim response.

He swore, "You were there for the whole thing weren't you?"

"Hm."

Another silence stretched. New Tactic: Switch gears.

"Soooo, you were out for a pint then?"

"Yes." God! Those monosyllabic answers were driving him up the wall.

"Tom...That bastard, he's supposed to wave me away when you're there."

"You avoid me" was the eerily calm reply.

"Well yeah, when I'm bingeing...I mean, look, I'm just trying to avoid...this."

"This" Arthur repeated, sitting tall-hands clasped. His perfect posture, perfectly intimidating. If not for the wrinkles in his suit, he'd seem ready for a business presentation. Not a conversation with a younger ex-son-brother-colony-family-member-thing.

"This!" Alfred insisted gesturing wildly.

"Elaborate."

"I dunno. I can't really just…" he frowned and then smiled as if having an epiphany. "You're too British." Yeah, that summed it up beautifully.

"I'm. Too. British."

"Yeah" They were like infamous for being emotionally repressed. Them having a conversation about feelings? No. Not gonna happen.

If Alfred had cared to look, he'd have noticed the other man's clasped hands were now white at the knuckles. That he was visibly restraining himself from acting out violently.

"So how bout I just get going in an hour or-"

"You'll leave when I deem you fit."

"Like physically? Ha, ha. 'Cause if you give some bull about mentally-I'll be here for ages-"

"Yes, of course that's what I meant you tosser."

"Kay."

Alfred heard a clock ticking. He fidgeted. Arthur sighed.

"So...why did you bring me here?"

"You were making a spectacle of yourself."

Alfred glanced at the hat again. _Duh. _"Did I break something?"

"No."

Great. Monosyllables again.

Another awkward silence stretched between them.

"Is your head still bothering you?" the elder inquired.

"Oh, uh, not too much no."

"Are you nauseous?"

"A little."

Arthur nodded, "Think you can manage a bite?"

"Uh, yeah, sure."

Arthur nodded and stood "I'll return with some breakfast."

Crap. Alfred panicked. Why did he set himself up for that? "Oh, uh that's okay" But it was too late and the man had already left. Hopefully, his cast-iron stomach could hold up.

Alfred did feel some trepidation when a breakfast tray with three bowls of porridge was set down before him.

Also, it was kinda embarrassing. Usually, the only times he had breakfast in bed were his visits to the hospital after an injury.

The porridge was bland and luke-warm (which meant Arthur had been doing his damndest to keep from burning it. Great. Now he **_had_ **to get it down). Worse, it gave him colonial flashbacks.

Especially the way Arthur had resumed his seat beside the bed with a cup of tea and the newspaper. The standard spot he'd take whenever little Alfred had been sick or injured or desperate for attention.

A lifetime ago this would've been so normal; with the light slanting through the window and birds twittering and them just...

The rustle of the newspaper pages was pacifying. Alfred took a deep gulp of orange juice.

Two bowls in, he felt warm and sleepy. Damn England and his too comfortable guest bed. It was just too soft and had too many pillows and was way better than the hotels around here. Even his embassy didn't compare.

He yawned and was dimly aware of the tray being whisked away.

"You're certain you've had enough?"

"Mm, yeah thanks" Alfred snuggled down-fingers toying with the decorative cords of a nearby pillow.

"Well, if you're sure..."

He yawned again and hugged a pillow close. It wouldn't hurt to catch just a few more Z's.

Alfred didn't notice the concerned look Arthur cast his way, or how the door was carefully kept ajar when the man left.

Sleep was an incredible thing.

A few hours later, Alfred had awoken feeling rejuvenated. Alright, not quite rejuvenated but...the hangover had ebbed and he was back up to the everyday-crappy-feeling he'd been having since...well pretty much since 9/11.

There was a note on a pillow near him in Arthur's stuffy cursive:

_Draw yourself a bath. There are some clothes in the wardrobe._

It turned out to be stuff he'd forgotten from other visits. He wrinkled his nose. All of his clothes were pressed. There was something so stuffy and strange about seeing a t-shirt of PacMan ironed.

He ignored it and pulled out a button up shirt with slacks and a vest. He'd wondered vaguely where that outfit had gone. It'd be good to wear something different to the meeting. Lately, he'd been wearing the same thing over and over. The others were starting to use it as proof, that he wasn't as affluent a nation as his folks claimed.

He'd usually shrug it off with a "never hurts to tighten your belt once in a while." Except that usually sent them off in a '_can you, Alfred? I heard you just keep packing on the pounds. What's that new phrase: muffin top?'_

Alfred growled at the memory and stomped over to the tub-and found something new to be irritated with. Damn. England always had all the neatest stuff. The tub was old and fancy with clawed feet and jeweled knobs.

It had definitely been a while since he'd had a bath. Showers were just quicker and cheaper back home. Though he did want to try out Kiku's advice and see if he could slim down a bit.

* * *

><p>Alfred toweled his hair as he sought out England. He whistled as he came down the stairs.<p>

To his surprise, England was talking rather loudly. He was either gabbing with his invisible friends or on the phone. He was relieved to see it was the latter.

"-sit in for me...No. No. Don't be absurd! I'm host-What?"

Alfred leaned against the doorway-judging by the palpable irritation and the way one eyebrow was twitching-it must've been one of his brothers.

There was a weird buzzing by his ears and Alfred swatted on instinct. He blinked. He could've sworn he connected with something.

"What the…?"

"Alfred! It's rude to drop eaves on someone's conver-"

Alfred stared at his hand. That was seriously freaky.

There was buzzing again this time by his other ear. He swatted at it.

"Alfred?" his name was drawn out slowly, questioningly.

He blinked furiously. He'd seen a shine of...something whizz by.

"Heh, I thought the bugs in Dallas were big, but your place is infested, probably cuz its so old."

That should've triggered an angry retort, but Arthur just stared-green eyes wide in his pale face.

Alfred's head twinged with pain and for a moment dots of lights seemed to float lazily around England.

"I'm going back to bed" he said flatly.

* * *

><p>An angry voice alerted Arthur back to the phone in his hand<p>

"Alistair…"

"What happened?" was the abrupt demand.

"I…"

"Spit it out lass!"

"I think Alfred's Sight is returning" he murmured.

"..."

"Scot?"

"..."

"Scotland, have you encountered such a thing before? When he was younger, he was able-"

"Are you sure he's not joshing you?"

Arthur chewed his lip. That had happened a handful of times; the lad had feigned seeing a fairy and then laughed at England's hopeful face. Usually, he'd bite out some cruel remark that the elder needed to make some real friends. Or that he was "off his meds."

It had been such a dire blow, when Alfred's ability winked out. Some of his favorite memories with the child were forged on the Solstices. His chubby little arms outstretched to catch a pixie or two, as he pranced around the toadstools. Arthur had such plans for him; fought the desire to rush him through his lessons, so he could instruct him on the occult.

Gradually through the years, Alfred's Sight dimmed. The little one began squinting to see Mint Bunny. Finally one Midsummer's Eve, he'd just stared blankly at the night-sky-unable to see the festivities. Arthur had been horrified. He'd questioned all of his brothers-searched all the texts he could get his hands on. Something, anything that could preserve Alfred's eyes.

Then those damned wars sprung up between them, and by the time they started speaking more civilly with one another...Alfred had somehow convinced himself magic was...fake.

"As a child he could see them" Arthur insisted "Even as an adult on Hallow's Eve-" And that was the part that baffled him. It was one thing to lose the ability altogether, but to have it for one day, every year. It was odd.

"Lass-"

"It seems quite weak though. It confused him. He...He didn't seem to grasp the situation fully. How do you suppose I should go about instructing him on it? As a different landmass, there will likely be some variance in the quality of his magic versus ours but...but he was greatly influenced by me...Actually, he received a good deal of immigration from the four of us, so it wouldn't be unreasonable to-"

"Because the world needs an America that can cast" Scotland replied flatly.

"Oh hush. Without proper training, there's no telling how his abilities will manifest."

"Gone from simply having the Sight to having magic" was the acerbic response.

"His land has supernatural beings. Few and far between, yes. But they exist. It's only natural he should have some talent!" the younger brother argued hotly.

"You jus' want him for your little club."

"There's no need for him to deal with it alone" England continued on, not bothering to deny it. Though it was always so hard to get America to join anything.

"I'll get Wales to fill in for you tomorrow."

"I just told you, the reason I phoned you was because Rhyss won't return my-"

"I'll get him there. Don't let Alfie leave the house 'til I get a look at him. I'll be there by evenin'."

Click.

Arthur stared at the phone. He extended his empty hand and a fairy immediately knelt down on his palm. He eyed the bent wing with a sympathetic eye.

"He didn't mean it, my dear."

There was a soft bell-chime in response.

Arthur sighed, "I know, I know. You were excited for him to see you again. We have to be patient, that's all. Hmm?"

A few more fairy voices clamored for his attention.

Arthur frowned at the lot of them, "Of course, we're going to help him."

He eyed the empty staircase-memories flashing through his mind:

_"Engwand, they're soo pwetty, can't I keep one? Can't I? I'll take weal good care of her, I pwomise!"_

_"Daddy, look! A fairy ring! See, I told you I found one. You'll make sure to be here for the Summer Solstice, right? Right?"_

_"Father? Who are you talking t-? Oh! Mint!? Is that-ha, yes. It's good to...see you too!"_

_"Fath-er-Brother. I need to speak to you about this latest legislation your-er-our king just-what are you...doing? A little early to celebrate All Hallow's Eve."_

_"Dude, are you talking to yourself? Geez, all that laudanum in the 1800s must've fried your brains."_

"Of course, I'm going to help him" Arthur vowed.

* * *

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